


Confessions in the Kitchen

by Mollyraesly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Confessions, Emotional Growth, F/M, Kitchen Scenes, lemoncakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9566906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mollyraesly/pseuds/Mollyraesly
Summary: Two confessions on two different nights.One told from Jon's POV, the other Sansa's.A Jon who can't seem to help but reveal his feelings, and a Sansa who is trying to get better at expressing her own.Modern AU-- Both teenagers/new adults.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first Jonsa fic so please be gentle!

Confessions in the Kitchen

by Molly Raesly

She hadn’t been doing it on purpose. Or at least, that’s what he told himself anyway. Sansa wasn’t doing it on purpose. Sansa wasn’t doing it on purpose. _Sansa was NOT doing it on purpose._

He repeated the mantra to himself that summer more often than he liked to admit to himself. It became like a prayer that helped him make it through every bright morning, sun-soaked day, and hot night.

Jon had known Sansa since before he had even met Robb. When he had moved down across the road, and his mum forced them to go to a neighborhood picnic, it had been her red pigtails tied up in blue ribbons that matched her eyes he had first encountered. Even then, when she still had all her baby teeth and was barely seven years old, she had acted so grown up. He could still remember the affected tone she used to introduce him to Robb, as though they were all adults at a cocktail party. “Robb, this is Jon Snow,” she had said. “He just moved in down the street. You are the same age. Jon, this is my brother Robb.”

Once he met Robb, his anxiety about moving to a new place and going to a new school dissipated. He was so excited about his newfound best friend—and Rickon, Bran, and Arya—that he forgot about Sansa. Well, as much as he could. She was hard to ignore.

Most of the time, it seemed like she was the one ignoring them. It was not always the case. She did love her siblings and fretted over the younger three especially, as though she were their mother whenever their actual mother was not around. Arya hated it—the two butted heads more often than not—but Bran and Rickon did not seem to mind. Robb would sometimes tease her for always wanting to play house, but she would just wrinkle her little nose at him and toss her hair.

Still, Sansa was always somewhat separate from the rest of her siblings. She had her own friends and preferred hanging out with them rather than tagging along with whatever Robb was doing. She always stayed with her friend Jeyne for a week instead of going camping with them in the summer because she refused to endure the mosquitoes and heat and hated fishing anyway. Instead of playing cops and robbers at a family gathering with the other kids, she would sit patiently with her mother and listen to the adults talk. She kept her legs crossed at the ankle and glowed whenever someone commented on what a mature young lady she was.

“Sansa always does what Sansa wants,” Arya had once told him while rolling her eyes. “And God forbid anyone force Sansa to do anything she doesn’t want to.” She was never rude to Jon—Sansa was never really outwardly rude to anyone because she had seen too many Audrey Hepburn movies and therefore didn’t approve—but there was a formality to their relationship ever since the beginning. She always seemed to keep everyone, but especially him, at a distance, lingering at the threshold while her siblings all clamored into his bedroom to throw water in his face and jump into his bed. He didn’t think they had ever even hugged. Once he had patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, and that had seemed appropriate.

Jon never really thought much of it—it just seemed the way things were between them. She was prissy, sure, but harmless. And he was her brother’s best friend.

He and Robb had been an inseparable duo as they grew from young boys playing in his backyard to gawky pre-teens wondering about girls, to high school seniors on the ice hockey team. Robb was better than Jon at pretty much everything but hockey—but even there Jon had only a very slight advantage.

They decided to go to the same university; it had seemed natural at the time that they would attend the same school. And Jon banished away his errant thoughts that perhaps it would have been better for him to go somewhere where he wouldn’t always be second fiddle.

He was struggling to get by on loans and scholarships and working part-time, while Robb breezed through campus and tried to hook up with half of the girls in their hallway. A few weeks into the first semester, Jon had met another student in his mechanical engineering program, Sam, whom he really liked, and they spent many nights together in the library working out problem sets and outlining readings. Robb jokingly called them the “Night’s Watch” and would tease Jon for spending all of his time with Sam instead of with a girl. But Jon had overloaded his schedule, and Sam was the best study partner he had ever had. He was always prepared and had a terrific memory. And he didn’t push like Robb did. He was a nice person—one of the nicest Jon had ever met. Though his dad sounded like a complete shit. Nearly on par with Jon’s own father, wherever the hell he was.

But even though Jon was glad to have made one real friend his first year, he did not have many exciting stories to share when he and Robb returned back to Winterfell for the summer. His mum didn’t care. She was just proud he had made the Dean’s List—so proud that tears had welled up in her eyes and she had insisted on cooking him his favorite meal.

But Theon laughed himself silly, and Bran, Rickon, and Arya were disappointed to learn that his version of university meant more homework and wasn’t like the movies. Sansa didn’t have an opinion because she wasn’t home much the first week they came back. She had just graduated high school and was flitting from party to party. When they finally seemed to end around mid-June, they had all already settled into summer, and Jon’s less-than-exciting first year was no longer a topic of conversation, unless Theon wanted to get under his skin.

He was at the Stark’s house more than Sansa was. He, Robb, and Theon all worked summer construction gigs for Ned Stark’s company. It was hot and the hours could be long, but the money was decent. And he never needed to go to the gym. Afterward, Jon would tag along with Robb and hang out with the other Stark children until he headed home to spend time with his mother after she finished work.

But when Sansa was around, it was difficult not to notice. In the fall, she would be starting a fashion program. Sansa had always been good at sewing and would make Halloween costumes for Bran and Rickon and volunteered to help with the drama club for their musical productions. She’d even made Jon a cloak with a wolf bit on the front for when he and Robb had to do a school project on Game of Gourds. Now, she had started wearing her own designs, and, not being one for fashion, the only thing that Jon could say about them was that she must have been saving money on fabric because her outfits didn’t seem to include very much of it. That wasn’t to say that they were overly revealing or inappropriate. Sansa hated skimpy clothing and club wear. She was all class and glamour like the black-and-white movies she loved so much. But she was so tall, and her legs were so long.

Theon, of course, had much more colorful things to say about her. Robb would smack his friend in warning, as would Jon. But he’d always feel like hitting himself across the head for thinking the same thing.

Not that it mattered, of course. A lot of boys had those thoughts about Sansa. And she knew it. It was one of the reasons why she was never home much.

Sansa had always been pretty—even as a little girl in pigtails. But somehow in the year he’d been away, he’d forgotten just how pretty she was. Without meaning to, he found himself staring at her blue eyes and high cheek bones. Her red hair that flowed down to her waist and curled just so at the small of her back. Her legs were indecently long and graceful from all of the years of ballet.

The worst was her lips. Sansa was always touching up her lipstick or lipgloss or whatever it was. It made her lips shiny. And it was far too distracting.

Still, Jon tried his best to ignore all of Sansa’s distracting features and continue on with his summer. He called Sam, and they discussed ways in which Sam might woo Gilly, the girl who restocked library books on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday nights, and sometimes Saturday afternoons. He helped Bran to design new features for his wheelchair and taught Arya how to kickbox. And he worked construction—extra shifts for the extra money.

On one of the hottest days in August—just a few days before he’d have to return to school—the Stark children decided to have a pool party that lasted long into the night. As Jon had the next day off, no one would let him go home. Halfway through an epic, tie-breaking match of pool volleyball, per Rickon’s request, Jon had headed into the kitchen to grab a snack for everyone when he walked in on Sansa and some kid kissing.

One of the kid’s grubby hands was trying to make its way up her short skirt, and the other was trying to figure out how to force down the sleeves of her top, though he didn’t seem to be having much luck. The shithead was sucking on her collarbone, and Sansa’s eyes were closed—her hands with the perfectly manicured fingernails in his blonde hair.

Jon made an involuntary sound that sounded a bit like a strangled yelp, and Sansa immediately opened her eyes. She flushed under his gaze and then started to disentangle herself from the boy. “Joff, get off,” she hissed.

This “Joff” whined but did as he was asked when he looked over his shoulder and saw Jon standing slack-jawed in the kitchen. He leaned over to kiss Sansa on the cheek and then made his way over toward Jon.

“Night, my lady,” he said, sneering at Jon instead of looking back at Sansa. His shoulder brusquely pushed against Jon’s as he made his way out of the kitchen. “I’ll call you.”

Even after he left, it took Sansa a few seconds to move. It was only when Jon cleared his throat that she got to work fixing her clothes and applying more of that stuff to her lips. Her cheeks were a rosy pink, but she seemed determined to act with as much dignity as she could muster. She presented him a smile. “Jon.”

And the formal tone of her voice made him wonder if he had just been the one caught with a boy trying to get under his shirt. “Is there something you needed in the kitchen?” she asked when he didn’t respond. “Uh...Rickon wants snacks.”

Sansa smiled again demurely. And then he remembered he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the tips of his ears suddenly turned pink.

Sansa didn’t seem to notice because she was already putting together some snacks. He joined her after staring for too long. He wasn’t sure what to say or if he should say anything or what he should do with his hands. He wishes he had shaved. Sansa always seemed to be a little nicer to him when he was shaved.

She was the one who broke the silence. “His name is Joffrey. He’s the friend of a friend. Met him at a party. He pretends to be charming. Says I’m pretty.” “You are pretty.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think to take them back. And his face was now red, like his ears. Why did he have to sound so pathetic? He growled at himself and his stupidity. He tried not to confess that even to himself, and now he had gone and admitted it to Sansa herself. He felt irrationally angry at himself and even at her for making him admit to it so easily. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” he added gruffly while crossing his arms over his naked chest. He huffed and flexed his abs, pathetically hoping she'd notice.

Sansa smirked just the tiniest bit and stared him down with her blue eyes under dark lashes. It made him feel like he was eight years old meeting her for the first time. But her smirk turned into a smile and she played with the end of her hair. “Let’s head outside,” she suggested with a sort of elegant nonchalance he had never been able to manage. “Rickon is hungry.”

They went outside, and he jumped into the pool the mument he had the opportunity. Rickon flocked to grab a snack but was hurried by Bran and Arya to get back in the water so they could finish their game. Jon tried to stay focused, but his eyes kept straying to where Sansa was daintily lounging on one of the pool chairs and slowly breaking apart a lemon cake and eating it very properly. There was some sort of logic to how she did it, but he couldn’t figure out the pattern.

His tongue felt stuck in his mouth as he watched her lick her fingers.

They locked eyes as she popped the last piece into her mouth. There was this look of sweetness on her face but a trace of smugness in her eyes. And then he noticed a twinkle, almost a challenge. She arched one of her eyebrows. He broke eye contact and disappeared under the water.

Sansa never did anything she didn’t want to do.

 

And so that was why Jon found himself standing outside the Starks’ front door the next summer telling himself to stop being so stupid and just ring the doorbell, trying to convince himself that he hadn’t started and ended a relationship with a girl named Ygritte because her red hair reminded him a little too much of his best friend’s little sister, and equal parts dreading and hoping to see that little sister.

Ned Stark answered the door before he could finish reciting his mantra. _She didn’t do it on purpose. Get yourself together, Snow._

“Oh! It’s you, Jon! I thought I heard one of the dogs. Come inside! It’s boiling out! How’s your mum?”

The house was significantly cooler than it was outside, but he was already sweating. Bran was rolling after Rickon and screaming about something or other, and he could hear Arya shouting about something or other.

“Everything is pretty much the same here,” Ned told him cheerfully. “Robb is somewhere around on the second floor. I’m sure you’ll find him. He could do with a friendly face. He’s still sulking because he’s stuck as the only baby sitter this summer.”

Jon gave Ned a puzzled look.

“Robb didn’t tell you? Sansa is away doing a summer internship this year.”

“That’s great,” Jon replied, but he didn’t mean it. She didn’t do it on purpose. Even though he didn’t want it to, his heart sank.

She didn’t do it on purpose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sansa had an internship the next summer, as well. She was so busy with school and work that she had only really seen her family over Christmas for about a week before rushing off to accompany her boss Petyr Baelish to a fashion show. This Christmas, though, she was determined to stay home the whole break. She had been gone for too long. Being back home in the cold, which she had always hated growing up, was a comfort after so much time spent in the heat of the city where everything was loud and you could never see the stars. She refused to get dressed up or to do the ridiculous contouring makeup routine Margaery recommended that took nearly a half hour to complete. It was just a scrubbed face and a brush of chapstick. She wore her baggiest pair of jeans and heavy sweaters and kept her long her braided. Robb teased her at first for dressing like a princess at the beginning of the movie before she finds out she’s a princess, but Rickon kicked him in the shin and called him a boogerhead in her defense.

Before coming home for the break, she had made a promise to herself that she’d be more involved at home, but her plan was not working very well. Arya was so much better than her at fitting in with her brothers. She was good at sports and knew all of their dirty inside jokes. Sansa’s favorite hobbies were reading, flipping through magazines, and decorating cakes. None of those things particularly appealed to her more adventurous siblings.

It was only when she tried inserting herself into her siblings’ teasing and play that she realized how separated from the rest of their dynamic she had made herself. But she became determined to fix this and carve out a role for herself. She’d offer to be on Bran’s team in trivia or challenge Robb to video game competitions and lose spectacularly. She found out soon enough that she could beat everyone else at dancing games and that baked goods were an excellent way of building bridges.

And she told jokes—actual jokes—and would nod along to all of Rickon’s ridiculous conspiracy theories and Bran’s overly complicated story ideas about green dreams.

Arya didn’t know what to make of it. “I think someone poisoned her latte. Or maybe she inhaled so many hairspray chemicals that her brain has gone to mush.”

“Oh, shut up, Arya,” Robb told her. “Leave Sansa alone. It’s not every day that droids get new programming.”

No one directly asked Sansa why she was hanging out with them now—perhaps because they feared drawing attention and thus making her stop. And even though they teased behind her back, Sansa could sense it meant a lot to them that she was hanging around more. And she was grateful that they had let her because it meant even more to her.

But likely it had to do with the fact that Jon wasn’t around as much. Bran complained nearly as much as Arya about how Jon Snow was always working over break. It was strange at first to know that she was filling in as a proxy for Jon, who wasn’t even related to them. It was one of the things she had always irrationally disliked Jon for. He seemed to fit in much better with the Starks than she ever did, and she was certain she had heard Arya ask their father more than once if they could give him her bedroom.

But listening to her siblings talk ad nauseam about Jon all the time—after she had gotten over her initial jealousy—had made her think more about him and even wish for him to come round more, as well. She’d overhead from Robb’s conversation with Arya a week or so ago that Jon had broken things off for good with a girl that he’d dated on and off again at school. Sansa had never met Ygritte, so she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to feel happy or sad about this. But she couldn’t quite shake the strange feeling in her gut that had been there ever since she’d heard Ygritte was also a redhead.

Sansa had never told anyone, but about six months ago she had been alone and lonely and more than a little drunk on rosé. Using Arya’s password, which she had surreptitiously obtained through underhanded means, she had logged into Arya’s various social media accounts to stalk Ygritte. She was, to Sansa’s drunken relief, not quite as pretty as herself at first glance. Her teeth were slightly crooked, she had very little fashion sense, and she was petite whereas Sansa had always been statuesque. But the more Sansa looked at her, the more she had noticed the other girl’s beauty. Even though they both had red hair, there was something inviting, even mischievous, about Ygritte. While Sansa’s eyes were piercing and she’d been teased more than once for being an “Ice Queen,” Ygritte’s eyes were all passion and warmth. And she looked fun, too, judging by all of the photos of her climbing mountains and going ice fishing. She drank beer and ate steak. She wasn’t prissy.

Sansa had spent ten minutes gazing at one photo in particular. Jon was practically a ghost on social media. He didn’t have a Facebook, he thought Snapchat was stupid, and he didn’t see the point in Twitter. He probably didn’t know Tumblr existed, and he even read the newspaper in its actual paper form. But he must have made an exception for Ygritte because in addition to the few pictures of him posted, there was one of them kissing. Ygritte seemed to be laughing, and the angle was awkward and slightly blurry—not something Sansa would normally allow on her own social media. But what struck her was the tenderness in Jon’s pose. He had both of his hands on Ygritte’s cheeks, and his eyes were closed in earnestness. Once the ten minutes were over, Sansa had chastised herself for being so silly and for letting the wine get to her head.

But even after that night, when guys would come up to her or she would be listening to her friends at school talk about themselves and never ask about her, she’d picture Jon’s hands and wonder what it would feel like to have him come in close cradle her face to his own.

When Jon finally came to visit, he fit back into the old dynamic seamlessly. The younger kids fawned over him, Arya talked a mile a minute, and Robb was all laughs and cheek. Lingering in the doorway, Sansa hadn’t known what to do with her hands when she saw him again. He patted her on the shoulder, and she just gave him a sweet smile. A kiss on the cheek would have been too much.

Jon was only about her height—shorter if she were wearing any sort of heel. But she didn’t mind.

He was broad-shouldered and carried himself with a quiet strength. His curly hair was the envy of any woman’s, and he hadn’t shaved. But, again, she didn’t seem to mind.

She observed the rest of her siblings’ jubilation with a hint of sadness throughout the day. Now that Jon was back, she was afraid she’d be shunted to the side again. But she tried her best to mask over the hurt with baking and being extra helpful to her mother. After an excellent dinner, her siblings insisted on a movie marathon. Jon did his best to contain them to only two movies, but Bran had his eyes on watching four. Sansa sat with them for the first movie, but halfway through the second her legs started to cramp up.

Jon found her sitting on the kitchen counter. She was wearing her flannel pajamas and Robb’s favorite sweatshirt and picking at a lemoncake. He looked surprised to see her. He must not have seen her sneak out earlier.

“Hi Jon,” she said softly.

“Hey,” he murmured. He was whispering to match her quiet tone, even though the movie blared loudly from the other room. “Water,” he murmured.

“Right, course,” Sansa replied as she watched him fill a glass and gulp it down. When he didn’t immediately turn back to go into the other room, she decided to push her luck.

Everyone else seemed to have such wonderful stories about Jon. Rickon talked about how he taught him to play hockey. Bran would go on about Jon’s help with his homework and how he volunteered with kids with disabilities. Arya seemed to prefer Jon to nearly everyone else, and he was Robb’s best friend. Even her parents loved him. Her dad would go on about how responsible Jon was and how much he helped his mother. She wanted a conversation at least. Maybe the key would be to stop pushing Jon away and just allow him to be for her what he seemed to be for everyone else.

The only problem was that she had no idea how to go about forging a relationship with him. And even though Jon was always gentle, something about the muscles peeking out from under his t-shirt sleeves made her knees feel weak.

“How has school been going? I never really asked. I haven’t seen you in a while.” She fiddled with the blue ribbon at the end of her long braid.

“Good.”

“You like engineering still?”

“Yeah.”

“I bet the course load is really demanding, huh?”

“Mmhm.”

She felt foolish. Jon was never the most talkative person, but she’d seen him hold many conversations in which he gave more than one-word responses. She was going to tell him to go back to the movie and not to worry about her, but then he spoke again.

“But, uh, my friend Sam and I study together. That helps. He’s a really good friend. I can be a bit glum at school, and he pulls me out of my own head.” Jon’s voice was a little gruff at first, but then settled into silk.

She liked the tenor of his northern accent. “Oh,” replied Sansa, and then she smiled in remembrance. “The Night’s Watch, right? I’ve been caught up on all your heroics over the last couple of years.”

“Your brother is an asshole,” Jon muttered.

“He can be,” Sansa said with a smile. “But Theon was the one who told me about that.”

“Theon is a shithead.”

This made Sansa chuckle.

“How’s your school?”

“It’s good,” she replied chirpily. “Learning a lot. Adjusting to life in the big city.”

The response left her lips so easily. It was a practiced reply that she had given more times than she could count.

Jon reached for one of her lemoncakes. “But?” he prompted.

“But,” she said and then sighed. Her fingers played with the ends her red hair.

“You can tell me,” he told her softly as he hauled himself onto the top of the kitchen counter next to her.

She took a deep breath. She hadn’t really talked to anyone about this. But there was something about Jon. How quiet he was. His soft brown eyes. They way he talked like he actually seemed to care. “It wasn’t really what I thought it was going to be—fashion school. I was so excited. I’ve always liked making clothes, and it was so great to meet people who like it too. And to go to a big city finally where there are actually things to do. I went to parties and drank too much and talked to boys.”

Sansa had always attracted male attention a bit too easily, whether she wanted it or not. Joff used to call her a tease all the time because she never let him go further than putting his hands up her shirt. Maybe it was because she was tired of being called that or maybe it was because she wanted to just stop his whining, but she decided just to have sex with him after about a year. It hadn’t been a very good first experience, and she found out he was cheating on her afterward.

Next were Harry and Sandor, neither exactly improvements. Most recently, she’d dated a guy she met in a café named Ramsay. He was a little too violent, and Sansa broke up with him when she found bruises all along her hips and thighs and he didn’t seem to care. She hadn’t dated again in nearly five months. She was a bit ashamed of her track record. She didn’t talk anymore about boys with anyone because she didn’t want to know what people would say—or what they would think about her.

“They weren’t the nicest guys,” Sansa allowed. Seeing Jon’s eyes darken, she fidgeted and smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles of her pajama pants. “None of the people I’ve met at school have been, really. After the first year or so, I started to realize that all of my friends at school weren’t really friends at all. I got sick—the flu—and no one came to check on me. They just continued on without me and didn’t help when I had to work overtime to catch up. Said I was better off because the illness would help me to lose a few pounds.”

Jon growled beside her, and she shrugged with a sad smile.

“None of my designs were ever good enough for them, and they always said super passive-aggressive stuff to me in class. And when I was having problems with one of my professors, none of them cared. And when we went out to a club one night and this guy tried to spike my drink, they didn’t do anything to try to stop him. If it wasn’t for that bouncer Brienne, I would have been in serious trouble. And the next day when I confronted them about it, they just brushed it off like it wasn’t a big deal.”

Jon wanted to say something, but Sansa kept talking. She had been so quiet about how unhappy she was for so long that now that she was admitting it, she couldn’t seem to stop.

“It just made me realize how fake they all are. Margaery and Loras. Cersei and Jamie. Once I couldn’t party, they didn’t have any use for me. They’re not real friends, just the type you have on social media. They really only care about themselves. So many people I’ve met at school are like that. The whole place is swarming with liars and pretenders. Even the professors are that way. They don’t seem to care about anybody. I do like fashion, but all of my work just feels tainted. Maybe I should transfer some place that’s closer to home. I could switch majors or just find a program that makes me like designing again. Maybe it would just be nice to be able to see the stars at night again. I know it sounds stupid, but after a while I realized how much I really missed everybody back home and how much of an idiot I’ve been to be gone so much when the people who actually care about me are here. I even missed Arya,” she says with a laugh that hides a sniffle. “I actually really missed her.”

Jon laughs a little with her.

“Don’t tell her!”

Jon grinned. “I won’t.”

Sansa carefully wiped a tear or two from her eyes and hoped he didn’t notice. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Jon divert his gaze to pretend he didn’t see. And the gesture was so sweet that Sansa felt tears come to her eyes again.

“I’m a mess,” she announced.

“No, you’re not,” he assured her.

“I am,” she insisted. “I just threw up my pathetic white-girl sob story all over you, and you just coming in here to get some water. We don’t even talk that much, and here I am dropping all of this on you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

His knee brushed hers as he tapped her shoulder with his own.

“I’m glad you told me. Sometimes you just have to tell somebody else what’s wrong.”

“So what should I do then, Jon Snow? About my bad friends and my sad life?”

He paused but then turned to her with a very serious look. “You, Sansa Stark, are going to figure this out. You’re smart and work hard. I’ve seen your clothes, and they’re nice. Your costumes are always good. I still have that cloak you made for me that one time. I’m sure you could transfer, if that’s what you want. I don’t know anything about fashion, but people wear clothes everywhere so maybe that’s not a problem. And if you decide you want to switch programs, there’s still time and plenty out there to choose from. Robb might take some convincing, but the Night’s Watch is always looking for new members.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But that’s all talk for tomorrow. Tonight, you shouldn’t worry about anything but eating this last lemon cake.”

She gave him a watery smile. “Only if you split it with me.”

“Deal.”

They sat for a few moments in silence eating the cake. As he licked his fingers and his jaw flexed under his scruffy beard, she remembered a very different night and how stupid she’d been. But she also remembered that he had called her pretty. He had said it so matter-of-factly. She hoped he still thought so. At the thought, she felt warmth tingle down to her toes.

Sansa felt a flicker of courage and impulsiveness. “You know, you are quite handsome, Jon.”

She leaned over and placed a quick kiss to his cheek and then before he could do anything hopped off the counter. His brown eyes still looked a bit shocked, and the tips of his ears were red.

“Goodnight,” she said with a bit of a squeak and then disappeared for her room.

Her smile was bright, and her cheeks were about as red as her hair. But she felt extremely proud of herself.

Jon was brave and gentle and strong.

And if she wanted to be with him, she was going to do this right. Because Jon Snow always seemed to do everything with purpose.

And now she would too.

 

A/N: Thanks for reading!! Love, Molly


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